


Tango Mike

by ConstanceComment



Series: A Life Still Permanent [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Experimentation, POV Character of Color, Partnership, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstanceComment/pseuds/ConstanceComment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel Reyes falls in love with only his boxers on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tango Mike

**Author's Note:**

> Check the end notes for content warnings.
> 
> This series has a bunch of headcanons and extra material over at my tumblr, and you can find all of it under this tag: [a life still permanent.](http://constancecomment.tumblr.com/tagged/a-life-still-permanent)

Logically speaking Gabriel knows that there was no special destiny to it, and that ultimately the reason that he and Jack got picked to be a fire and maneuver team was because they were in the right place at the right time, which happened to be, respectively, ‘standing next to each other,’ and ‘when the lieutenant went looking for somebody who could shoot straight.’ It turned out that they both had sniper training, and lo, command had somebody who needed very badly to get shot. What that meant was the two of them lying in the snow, freezing, strangers, holding as still as they could against the impulse to shiver while Gabriel read the mirage and the wind speed and the temperature. But that doesn’t stop him from being thankful, anyway, that circumstances had brought them together.

At his side, Jack had still been Morrison, and the first impression Gabriel had of him was that he had an accent so thickly nondescript that it marked him as being painfully Midwestern from the moment he opened his mouth.

Before they left position, someone on base made a joke about Gabriel being so dark that even with all the camo he’d stand out in the snow. Morrison had, casually and without heat, remarked that “if you really wanna help with targeting, I’m always happy to take potshots at you from the motor pool, see how bad you stand out when you’re bleeding out that asshole you went and confused for a mouth.”

It was the most words anyone in their unit had ever heard Morrison say in one stretch.

That wasn’t what made Gabriel love him; it wasn’t even what made Gabriel like him. The second part would happen hours later, when Gabriel gave his first go order and Morrison dropped the target on one smooth breath, mist curling out of his mouth as the rifle broke the winter in half.

The first part is happening now, right here, about two months into SEP training, a little over a year and a half since they’d met.

Round after round of injections and gene therapy hit everybody like a truck, the few of them that made it through bootcamp. A battery of classified injections, pills, and incredibly suspicious rations leaves them all wracked with uncommon symptoms and random unconsciousness as their bodies fight themselves down to the lining of their cells. The officers in charge call it _intense,_ and have a tendency to make them try to run the obstacle course when they can’t see straight. The recruits in the Program have a far less flattering series of words to describe things, but mostly just call the collective symptoms ‘the shakes.’

This time around, Jack got hit harder than he’s been letting on for anyone else. Misery has him curled into Gabriel’s side and shivering in a way that makes Gabriel think of a certain foxhole in Alaska. Jack’s in three whole goddamn layers of clothes, and he’s sweating through just about all of them. His hair’s so damp that the gel that usually keeps it impossibly upright has given up the ghost, leaving it flat against his neck and forehead, and, by extension, smearing the whole mess onto Gabriel’s bare shoulder.

Meanwhile Gabriel’s burning up even in his boxers with his shirt off and his bare back against the metal wall of the bunk, but he’s still got an arm around Jack, trying to transfer some of his fever to his friend as if that’d make any difference at all. Gabriel sort of wants to die, and it’s got just as much to do with the fact that his bones feel like they’re going to melt through his skin as it does the fact that Jack is hissing through his teeth and pressing his warm, open mouth into the skin of Gabriel’s shoulder as they both fight the pain.

“I think they’re trying to kill us,” Gabriel comments, rubbing small circles into Jack’s back.

“They just—” Jack says, words muffled against Gabriel’s shoulder. “They just wanna see if their baby Winter Soldiers can stand up to a little torture, is all. That or they’re trying to break us on purpose.”

“You think this is the Red Room?” Gabriel asks, worried despite himself. Jack’s the kind of soldier who doesn’t complain about his superiors, propriety still a part of him even after a few years in the military. If he can complain to Gabriel, that means he might actually be dying, or else he’s so exhausted he just doesn’t care.

“I t-think,” Jack stutters, shivering. “I think you’re still a _fucking nerd,_ Reyes.”

“Yeah yeah. Can’t pretend you wouldn’t look good in mask with the guyliner, though,” Gabriel says. “Bet you could do the whole angsty growl thing, too.”

“Fuck those movies are old,” Jack says.

“I’ve got ‘em on my drive,” Gabriel admits. “And you’re the one who keeps making all the references anyway, the Red Room’s not even _in_ those—”

“For the love of god, shut up,” Jack gripes.

Obligingly, Gabriel does, though that might have more to do with the sudden cramp that hits him in the chest, torso spasming as all his muscles lock. Later, Jack will call the episode a seizure, but at the time, Gabriel is pretty sure he just blacks out. He comes back to consciousness to the sight of Jack straining to keep upright as he cradles Gabriel’s head, blue eyes wide with a concern that’s almost panic.

Taking care of Jack is a natural impulse, now. Has been for a while; Gabriel can count all the times Jack’s missed a shot he called on one hand, and it’s why the brass wanted them for the SEP, the closest anybody in the enlisted ranks has gotten to ‘one shot one kill’ in years. Jack admitted that he only said yes because Gabriel said yes, and that’s what being part of a team _means._ Jack waits for him to make the call, and as long as Gabriel’s with him, Jack’s not going to get shot. Ultimately, the amount of trust Jack has in him is staggering, and it doesn’t matter whether or not Jack would’ve taken the slot in the Program without him; Jack’s his best fucking friend. They take care of each other. So Gabriel sucks it up, and doesn’t say anything when after a few more minutes of banter Jack lets out a hiss of pain that’s nearly a whine, one long screaming breath of air as he forgets himself and bites into Gabriel’s shoulder, the prick of teeth a dull flare of discomfort.

“Easy,” Gabriel says, syllables catching on the ache in his throat as he tips his sweating head back against the wall. He bring his hand up to the back of Jack’s neck, lets his shaking fingers thread through Jack’s lank hair.

The sound Jack makes in response is more shouting than breathing, a harsh, staggered series of exhalations. His chest heaves, shallow pulls of air as he fights the shakes.

Gabriel looks down at him, and thinks about that first shot in Alaska, back when they’d barely said more than fifty words to each other. It had been cold, but not terribly, the sort of spring chill that you could sit still in for a while before it got at your fingers and your ears. The snow fell, and Gabriel had watched the target, then said _‘go.’_

Gabriel used to think that watching Jack take aim was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Now, Jack’s got his teeth in Gabriel’s shoulder, and he can’t even see his face, but Gabriel knows he was wrong, before; it’s got nothing to do with the gun.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Racism - somebody says something nasty to Gabriel with a specific element of colorism. 
> 
> "Tango Mike" is NATO Phonetic Alphabet derived slang for "thanks much."
> 
> Technically this is an alternate scene or deleted scene from a long fic I'm writing about these two right now. So there's an extended version of this from Jack's perspective sitting in a WIP right now, which is about 5/16 done.


End file.
